


Fever

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He presses against you in the night, and you share breaths, because sometimes it's the only thing that offers some comfort. Sometimes it's not the physical illness that hurts the most.</p><p>Dean, 19. Sam, 15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

Dad's never there when they're sick. This time he's hunting a werewolf, something that may have just perked up Sam's interest – not that he would admit it to Dean. But Dean knew, just by the way his brother's eyes shot their father, before he saw Dean watching him and he moved them back downward, a sour look on his face.

He would have gone, Dean thinks, if Dad begged enough. Dad would beg to have Sam go hunting, but he wouldn't care if Dean refused. Sometimes, Dean doesn't think his father would care if he disappeared for a month – only that it would mean Sam was left alone.

They're on the same bed, Sam with his eyes squeezed shut and one hand clenched to a bucket because, within ten minutes, he's going to be hurling again. Dean doesn't know what it is, and the only medical books he finds are related to supernatural illnesses. Their father didn't seem to care, told Dean to give him aspirin and keep a cold cloth on his face. Then he handed Dean a gun and told him not to leave the room.

Like he was nine years old again, like when Sam was only five.

"Stop it," Sam growls, raising a weary hand to swat away the towel Dean tries to press to his forehead.

"Quit trying to be a dick, Sammy," Dean says in return, and presses the cloth against his brother's head. Hard. "The teen angst is wearing thin."

Sam tries to roll over, but Dean stops him, his free hand moving across Sam's torso and tugging him back.

"Dean –"

"Shut up."

He seems to listen, then, because he doesn't move and he doesn't talk. The only thing that lets Dean know his brother is still alive are his deep breaths and the occasional unpleasant sound rumbling through his stomach. Dean allows his hand to slowly trail away from his brother's stomach and instead just watches him, one hand pressing coldness to his forehead.

They'd stay like this forever if they had to.


End file.
